


the art of remembering

by siriuslydraco



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 11:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: "Jaime, you know who I am right? You remember me?" Sansa asked him, a trembling hand placing itself on top of his."No" he replied, the word cutting into her like a knife "I don't know who you are"an au where Jaime loses his memory and Sansa is the key to getting it back





	1. so helpless am i, to my darling love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansalannistark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansalannistark/gifts).



> your hair is winter fire 
> 
> january embers 
> 
> my heart burns there, too 
> 
> \- stephen king

The sunlight that streams through the window- it's beam broken into pieces by the pattern of the blind- lands on top of the beautiful red head that's wrapped in white sheets covered with blue roses. Her hair is kissing her face, the six am breeze causing it to blow ever so slightly around her porcelain skin and over her naked back. She's a sight to behold, and Jaime can not take his eyes off of her. 

He sits in the leather armchair in front of his writing desk, his rounded glasses half perched on the bridge of his nose as his green eyes scan every inch of her that he can see. It's mornings like this that Jaime thanks whatever power there is that he can call her his own and that he can sit here and watch her with a heart that's just about ready to burst from his chest. He's so in love with Sansa that sometimes he thinks he'll surely die from it, and that the only reason his heart beats at all is for her. 

He takes his eyes away from her for a moment and to the empty page of his writing journal that sits perched on his knee, the lined paper being beaten repeatedly by his pen. Being a respected journalist one would think you'd never run out of words, but in this moment Jaime is so lacking in written vocabulary that it's almost stifling. He's kept journals since he can remember, and each and every one of them is hidden in a place only he knows, not even Sansa can tell where he puts them. It'd be too embarrassing if she ever did read them, he has almost three of them fully dedicated to their story alone. 

But the page remains empty and he can not think to string one sentence together to describe the sight before him _. How can I?_ he thinks. How can a man have words to describe something that poets have tried to articulate for centuries? He can not conjure a single word from his mind to write down on those blank lined pages that can possibly do his feelings justice. If only his heart could talk, then perhaps he'd be able to fill libraries full of journals that would describe his love for this woman. This glorious woman who now stirs in the bed, her red hair splaying out to one side on the white pillows. 

He thinks then of a quote from a book he read so long ago, a quote about January embers and a fire that burns in the flames of red hair. Sansa is just that. She's the last remnants of a blazing fire. Warm and scarlet and dark around the edges, and still able to burn when you touch her. He dares not touch her now despite the fact he wants to crawl atop her and wake her up with soft kisses to her face. She may be a sleeping angel, but she will scorch him now he knows, his fragility in this love struck moment too much of a weakness. 

His pen scratches against the surface of the page, the sound almost as familiar to him as his own voice and despite the fact he is only doodling at the corners he still takes it as a comfort. He is lost then as his Lannister green eyes flicker from the inked scrawling of a dried up journalist to his beautiful girlfriend that is sprawled like a naked angel under the rose patterned covers. The plains of her face are landscapes to escape in and her closed eyes are seas that he imagines clearly, he knows how blue they are when open and he pictures himself drowning in them. 

He manages to write a sentence. Simple. Short. But it's all he can articulate at the moment, the only thing he can think of to write that can show how he's feeling inside. 

_Sansa, if only you knew._

"I wish you'd tell me what you write in there" the voice makes him look up from the now doodle covered page - the one sentence burning into his eyes - to the still sleepy looking face of his heart. Her hair is pushed to one side of her head, a tangled bumpy mess of curls on top and the cascading waves of winter flames draped over a freckled shoulder. He has counted the speckles upon her body for so many nights, joining them with a fingertip as if they were constellations the gods themselves had painted. 

He smiles then, putting his pen down and closing the hard backed journal with a snap of finality. He will never tell her what he writes on the pages of ivory paper. He can't bring himself to tell her what those inked words say. Those words are pain of past and present and they speak volumes of how much he has suffered. Most of those pages however, are filled with lengthy and deep passages of how he truly feels about her. A sort of poetry he now finds he lacks out of pure awe. 

"Ah it's nothing, sweet girl" Jaime tells her, shaking his head and feeling the deep golden locks of hair tickle his cheeks as he does. Sansa has been nagging him to get a trim for the longest time now. He watches her as she raises a soft red eyebrow and he can't help but quirk his lips into a smile as she does. Sansa knows all too well that what he writes is _not_ nothing, but is everything since he has been documenting details of his life since he was twenty years old. 

"What time is it?" she decides to ask him instead, and for a moment of complete and utter weakness he almost forgets numbers and time completely. He goes to open his mouth and can not speak, his eyes too intent on watching her perfect lips form her sentences. He shakes his head again, this time at his own ability to become soft minded in the presence of a woman. She may be years younger than Jaime, decades even, but she has the power to make him feel so much smaller than she is. 

"Um half six" Jaime tells her and he watches as she rolls those eyes of hers- the ones she inherited from her mother- and falls back down on the pillows with a groan. 

"I hate Mondays" Sansa whines and Jaime laughs a little at her sullen expression as she casts her eyes towards the ceiling. He safely tucks his journal underneath todays newspaper that lies on his oak desk and walks towards the bed- it will be safe there until he can hide it elsewhere later on. 

"You say that every Monday, but you don't really mean it" her eyes go to his then as he sits on the edge beside her, one pale hand placing itself on the golden skin of his arm and Jaime can't help but let a traitorous shiver wrack through his body at her touch. She smiles at him widely and sits up, her hands now leaving him to clutch the rose patterned sheets to her freckled chest. The early morning sun is a burnt yellow as it filters through the blinds and it splits into lines on her face, pieces of her hair looking auburn and others looking like clementine orange. Jaime often wishes he could store her away in his mind where she could live immortally. 

But he knows he'd never forget a face like that. It's etched onto his heart forever now. _He can't forget it._  

"I do mean it. I hate Mondays, Jaime" Sansa sighs his name and his heart plummets in love at the mere sound of it. But Jaime does not buy her complaint. Sansa, a first grade teacher- is probably one of the only people that Jaime knows who genuinely loves their job. Even Jaime, who has been writing most of his life, hates the newspaper office in which he works and most of the people in it. But Sansa, she has such a love for all her students that it's almost like those kids are her own. She could never hate Mondays, or any other day she is doing what she loves.

"You only hate waking up early" he teases her, and she rolls her eyes dramatically- her face taking on an expression of lovely annoyance that Jaime knows is feigned. Her slender arms, white and freckled by sun, wrap around his neck as she shifts closer to him. He swallows thickly when the bed sheet slips to reveal the top of one perfect breast, the soft imprint of his passionate kisses left upon it in purple and speckled red. If the sheet were to slip further it would reveal similar marks along her stomach- barely there and fading but an everlasting reminder imprinted on not only her skin but on her soul of how much he loves her during their nights. 

"I really do hate waking up early" she sighs as she runs her fingers through his long hair, a flicker of a frown appearing in her eyes as she peers at the clock by their bedside. Just like everything else in their apartment it is vintage and almost out of place. But Jaime thinks the mismatched way they've furnished it- mixes of old and new- compliment them perfectly. Just like he and Sansa. 

"Tell you what" he tells her, his eyes focusing on a strand of fiery hair that is wrapped around two of his fingers "you jump in the shower and I'll make you pancakes, hmm?" 

How easily pleased she is, he notices, when her face turns to one of pure satisfaction and content. Her arms wrap tighter around his neck and she's practically sitting in his lap when she moves closer. Her lips are like rose buds and they're everywhere- his neck, his cheeks and his jaw that are dashed with thorny spikes of grey and brown hair and the tip of his nose. She's always been obsessed with his nose- constantly kissing it, and tracing the broken edges and chiseled tip that looks as if it was sculpted from marble. She finds his lips last, parting them with her own and Jaime almost curses himself for allowing her to make him so willing. Almost. He can't seem to regret the fact he's thoroughly infatuated with her when her tongue is so wet and her lips so expertly partner with his own. 

Her kiss vanishes all too soon, but she pulls away slowly- leaving the memory of her lips almost ghostly imprinted on his so that he can feel them even when she takes them away. 

"Thank you" Sansa smiles, gathering the sheet closely to her body once more as she attempts to jump from the bed. One last kiss is pressed to the tip of his nose- just like she always does- and then she's gone. A swirl of white cloth and blue roses with flames hanging down her back as she steps into the bathroom and shuts the door. 

Jaime is left then. Alone. And the gnawing nervousness that he has tried to push down all night and morning resurfaces with a vengeful kick. His heart beats quicker and his eyes dart to the closet that stands across from the bed. He knows what's hidden in there- something that has stalked him for the past two weeks. It's frightful and exciting all at once, and Jaime wants to get rid of it and keep it at the same time. It's hidden beneath tartan blankets that they only use during storms and snow days. It's small and shiny, and is encased in a black velvet box. 

He pushes himself off the bed faster than he thought possible, quickly hiding his journal and then leaves the room just as he hears the shower running. His mind is a whirlwind as he blindly starts making pancakes in the kitchen, the open windows now letting in the brightening sun and the sounds of the city. He tries hard to distract himself, much like he did try this morning- waking up at five am and trying to write something, anything about how he was feeling. 

But all he feels now is scared. As he whisks the eggs and milk he hears clearly the voice of his brother in his head, his mind replaying the conversation he had with him not three weeks ago. 

 ** _"I'm not sure about this, Tyrion" Jaime had said, voice cracking and breaking as he stared into the window of the vintage jewelry store. Tyrion was always the person to call upon when all else failed, and Jaime knew no matter what his brother would be there with something wise to say. Jaime sure needed it now, with a head full of scrambled thoughts and unrealistic worries that wouldn't vanish no matter how many times he reassured himself._**  

"Not sure? What do you mean? _Not sure?_ Didn't we talk about this last night?" his brother's voice was exasperated, clearly tired of hearing Jaime voice the flimsiest of worries. Worries Tyrion knew Jaime had no reason to think on longer than a minute. 

"I'm just......Tyrion I'm bloody scared, alright? I've never been married before what if I fuck it up?" Jaime chews his lips, one hand resting in his hair as he fists it and he can practically feel Tyrion rolling his eyes from over the phone. 

"Of course you're going to fuck it up" 

"Wow, thanks little brother. Remind me again, why I asked for your advice? I could've just called Bronn and asked him" Jaime tells his brother, angrily gritting his teeth. 

"And be told to forget all ideas of marriage and run away to Amsterdam? I don't think so. You and I both know Bronn would have been no help. I'm the only one with enough sense to tell you to do this" Tyrion is right, despite the fact Jaime would never admit it to him and as he looks at the ring display before him he knows it's what he has to do. But just because he has wanted to do this for years doesn't mean the fear has gone away. 

"Listen, Jaime" Tyrion continues, his voice stern over the speaker "you _will_ fuck it up. Multiple times. There will be days when you don't want to see her face, or hear her voice and the thought of being in the same room as her will kill you. But she'll fuck it up too, and she'll cry about it later and try to blame you and tell you how much of an asshole you were. And it'll be true. You will be an asshole to her. But you'll love her, and she'll love you and nothing else matters other than that, right? You won't know what you're doing at first but trust me, marrying the love of your life changes things. She's a part of you more than she was before. Trust me, marrying Shae was the best thing that has ever happened to me" 

"I think sometimes I love her too much, and other times I don't think I love her enough" Jaime tells him, a deep gushing breath falling from his mouth as he thinks of Sansa and how she's completely unaware of what he's doing right now "I just...I don't want her to wake up in five years and regret marrying someone....someone..." 

"Much older?" Tyrion interjects with a stiff laugh "is that what you're worried about? That you're almost twenty years older?" 

"Well....yeah maybe" Jaime can feel himself blushing at the embarrassment of it. He runs a hand over the scratchy stubble of his jaw to distract himself from the creeping self consciousness. It wouldn't be the first time Jaime has found it difficult to be in a relationship with a younger woman. He often finds himself wondering whether someone in their twenties will catch Sansa's eye one day and she'll leave him. He wouldn't blame her if she did, he wouldn't even hate her for it. Perhaps she'd realise that a younger man could give her a better future- much _more_ future. 

"Jaime, you've been together three years now. If Sansa wanted someone else she would have _left_ you for someone else by now. I see the way she looks at you, I hear how she talks about you to Shae. She loves you Jaime, and I think she loves you in a way that should scare you. You were meant for each other" 

"So I'm really going to do this?" Jaime asks with an excited titter, a bubble of something akin to euphoria expanding in his stomach "I'm really getting married?" 

"You have to ask her first" Tyrion laughs, but it's lighthearted and it comforts Jaime immensely as he begins to walk towards the door that a bell is hanging above, the soft tinkling of it drawing him in even more. 

"Seven hells, I'm really doing this" he clutches the phone tightly to his ear, thinking that if he does he might feel his brothers emotional support even greater. His hand trembles on the door handle, an action the respected Jaime Lannister does not show often but one he's oddly at ease with. He'll take any form of fear if it's because of Sansa Stark. 

 ** _"Trust me, Jaime" he hears Tyrion's voice "this will be the best thing that has ever happened to you"_**  

His brothers voice wavers off into the small distance that lays between the present and the past but his words echo like whispers. Jaime did indeed take in everything Tyrion had said, and had left that jewelry store feeling much more light hearted with an uneasy sort of impatience to start this new life with Sansa already. Some part of him had desired then, and still did now, to just whisk her away to a court house and get married then and there. 

But Jaime had not proposed that day or the next or the day after that. He had still not popped the question, and it was one he was afraid was going to come spilling and blurting out of his mouth in the most unromantic of ways if he didn't do it soon. But pure cold fear was stopping him from doing it. Something deep inside himself told him that they were heading for a disaster. 

"Hey, stranger" the dreamy voice startles him but he relaxes almost immediately when he feels the slender arms wrapping around his middle. He smiles a little as Sansa nuzzles his back, her flat cheek pressed against the grey cotton of his sweater. Her hands are pressed against his chest, and Jaime can not help but trap one small one in his, his lips bowing to meet it in a kiss. 

"Hey, baby" he calls her, voice rough and heart hammering. He's been like this all month- the butterflies that are only supposed to flutter in your stomach in the early stages of a relationship have taken root inside Jaime these past weeks. He feels unbelievably nervous around her now that he knows one question could change their future forever. What if she said no? Jaime knows Sansa loves him; she only tells him every day but there will always be that niggling paranoia that perhaps she'd prefer someone else. Someone like _Harrold_. He scowls to himself at the mere thought of Sansa's colleague; the blonde second grade teacher that all the females swoon over. 

He feels her arms drop from him but she's in front of him with one wriggle of her body and her smile is dazzling as she beams up at him. All previous doubt vanishes in his mind, and the certainty of proposing to her tonight becomes concrete in his mind. Sansa is so beautiful in that moment, and his heart is so full of love that he has half a mind to run into their bedroom and pull out the ring and propose here this minute. But this is Sansa, and she has been dreaming up of weddings and proposals for years. Everything must be perfect for her. 

"So Arya called yesterday" Sansa begins, reaching up to touch his face fondly before turning around and grabbing an orange from the bowl on the counter top "she wants to know if we're still on for Saturday?" 

"Saturday?" Jaime questions with a furrowed brow, two hands taking her waist and lifting her onto the counter. His mind is still confused when he starts pouring the pancake batter onto the pan. He can tell from Sansa's narrowed eyes and heavy huff that she has already told him what Saturday entails but he has completely forgotten. She waits for him to admit his forgetfulness- long slender fingers picking at the orange skin. 

"Yes, Jaime! Saturday" she rolls her eyes but when they come back and meet Jaime's he can not help but smile at how angry she's trying to look. The softness in those Tully eyes when she looks at him make him wonder if she could ever truly be mad at him for something so trivial. 

"Clearly I am an idiot who has forgotten the importance of this particular Saturday" he tells her sarcastically, watching as her eyes get narrower "please darling, explain to me" 

"It's Lyanna's birthday! We are her godparents, remember?" Sansa gives him a quizzical look, one slim leg crossing over the other and he can't help but hitch his breath when her red polka dot dress rides up one perfect thigh. His eyes leave her quickly, returning to the cooking pancake. 

"Oh yes, of course. A birthday party for a three year old. I can not wait" the utter sarcastic tone of his voice is enough to make Sansa roll her eyes. Yet again. But there is a hint of a smile on her face. Jaime Lannister is probably one of the toughest people she knows, someone who has built up a reputation as a successful crime journalist, and who gives off the impression of someone who never smiles. But Sansa knows how often they've babysat Arya and Gendry's daughter, and how Jaime adores the very ground Lyanna walks on. He may try and hide his feelings with sarcasm and wit but deep inside she knows he's as soft as she is.

"Oh it'll be fun. I know how much you love Lyanna" her voice is soft and her eyes too as she looks at him. Sansa can see it plain as day- the pain that arises in his face whenever they talk about their godchild. Lyanna is something that Jaime wants more than anything, and she's something Sansa can't give him "and besides" her voice is lighter now as she tries to conceal the ache that's hidden in it "Jon and Robb will be there, you haven't seen them in ages" 

"There's been a very good reason for that" his feigned sarcasm drips from his tone and he smirks a little when she doesn't entertain him, a pointed look throwing his way. Jaime- albeit grudgingly- is quite fond of Sansa's brothers, and although he'd never admit it to her, he does enjoy their company. They hadn't warmed to Jaime right away, but he always guessed that was going to be a sure thing to happen when you were dating their sister. He wouldn't expect anything less. 

"Babe, the pancakes are burning" Sansa tells him, nodding her head towards the pan that is starting to smoke just a little. Jaime curses under his breath and flips it over, sighing in relief when he sees it has not turned to charcoal. She gratefully takes it from him when she hops off the counter, putting the plate on the table along side a jug of orange juice. 

"Sans, I won't be able to make it early on Saturday" he tells her, a pot of coffee in one hand and two porcelain mugs in the other. His girlfriend sighs heavily, her fork balanced in mid air before her mouth as he takes a seat across from her. 

"Why not?" she frowns, the face of her niece running through her mind. 

"I have to go to that seminar on criminology, and write a riveting report that I'm sure my boss won't chuck in the bin afterwards and let Dickon Tarly have my spot in next's weeks paper to write something on men's health" Jaime grumbles through a mouthful of pancake. 

"But Lyanna will be so disappointed that her Uncle Jaime isn't there" Sansa all but cries, picturing Lyanna's little pout and doe eyes. 

"I'll be finished work at six, yeah? And I'll drive down to Arya's then" he proposes and Sansa smiles, nodding her head in agreement. Her eyes are always so blue when she smiles, her delight radiating from the inside out. Even when she looks back down at her plate his eyes stay fixed on her, tracing the flames on her head and the smooth drop of her nose. There's a red tinge to her cheeks that is immortally lovely and is somehow always there, even when she's not blushing _. Will you marry me?_ The question lays heavy on his tongue and it pushes against his lips and aches to be said. He wants to say it right now, to ask her to spend the rest of their lives together. But the table he has reserved at a fancy restaurant downtown pricks at his memory and he holds himself back. 

"So we still on for tonight?" he coughs as he asks her, a nervousness bubbling up from his chest. Sansa looks at him then with eyes that are slowly turning wide, a look of pure shock coloring her features "you forgot didn't you?" he adds with a disappointed sigh, and she nods her head slowly. 

"Oh Jaime, I'm so sorry" she tells him "I have parent teacher conferences tonight, and with everything piling up at work I just forgot to tell you. I'm sorry, I know you wanted to have date night but we can do it tomorrow?" 

 _Date night._ _But it isn't just date night_ , he thinks, _it was supposed to be the night I asked you to marry me_. He thinks then of the table he had booked almost two weeks ago and tries to hide his disappointment with a smile. Sansa had thought that perhaps they'd catch a movie or a show and go somewhere usual, but Jaime knows the truth. It's not her fault, he knows, she hadn't known. 

"It's alright, Sansa. We can just do it tomorrow" the sadness is evident in his tone and she can't help but reach for him across the table, her hand slipping into his. 

"When I come home tonight I'll make it up to you" how innocent she can make herself look while saying words with the naughtiest intent. Her eyes sparkle like a school girls but the curve of her lips suggest something else. He finds himself swallowing thickly when he eyes how the small plunge of her neckline looks more pronounced when she's leaned forward, and how her crossed thighs are visible as her skirts rides up her legs. 

"I'll be counting on it" Jaime tells her, and she smirks brightly, something devilish in her eyes. 

"I'd make it up to you now, but I gotta go" she says as she stands up and smooths down her red dress, her hands running over her hips in a way that makes Jaime's mouth dry. She's over to him then, her arms around his neck as she sits down gently on his lap. _Please let it be later_ , he prays as he feels the warmth of her chest against his. He's sure every time that Sansa is near him, that she can surely hear his heart beating. It's akin to crashing waves against a rock, and all but makes him deaf if he attempts to listen to it. Red hair, ocean colored eyes and the rosiest of blushes makes him feel like a cage that his heart aches to escape from. 

It pounds painfully when she pushes her lips against his and his arms create vices around her body. Her lips taste like lemon juice and sugar, and he groans a little at the taste of her tongue against his when it slips through the parted crevice of his mouth. She looks like a saint but she kisses like a sinner. It's a thought that runs through Jaime's mind every time she kisses him in such a way- hands tangled in his long hair, tongue and lips assaulting his in the most delightful of ways and her body. _That body._ Gods, it feels perfect against his own; her heart beating against his chest. 

"I love you" he doesn't think she's really said it for a moment because it sounds so far away, and he's drifted off somewhere inside his own mind that is consumed with Sansa and Sansa alone. But she repeats it in a whisper as she kisses down his neck and back up his stubbly jaw and he is awoke from whatever spell she's put him under. His face is held in her hands, and blue eyes swallow green. 

"I love you too" he tells her- voice almost dreamy. She kisses him one last time; this time quick but sweet and pushes off his lap. It is strange to Jaime how cold he becomes all of a sudden when she's not there, but he knows he'll have her in his arms once again. Sooner he hopes, rather than later. He watches as she crosses the room and throws on her black leather jacket, and red and blue scarf- a true Tully at heart- and opens the door. 

"Catch you later, stranger" he shouts after her, watching as she turns back around and smiles. It's then he decides that no matter what; that ring that hides in their closet will be on her finger by the end of the night. Without fancy dinner or roses or slow jazz music. It doesn't matter to him then- Jaime Lannister _will_ propose tonight.

He watches her leave their flat, the door tightly shutting behind her and Jaime just stays where he is in his chair; Tyrion's words echoing through his mind. 

_Trust me Jaime, this will be the best thing that has ever happened to you_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. the delightful side of fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in all the world there is no heart for me like yours 
> 
> in all the world there is no love for you like mine 
> 
> \- Maya Angelou

It was all a spectacle Sansa would rather not be a part of; standing in the large and stuffy staff room while celebrating the recent engagement of Jeyne Poole- the fifth grade teacher. Sansa watches her now with a scowl plastered on her face and her hands idly holding a plate of frosted cake. It has always been a tradition at the elementary; that if any member of staff announces an engagement, a pregnancy or anything else worth gathering for, then everyone comes together to pretend to be happy for them and eat cake that tastes as if it's been stale for months. 

She can not help but feel the same trickling prick of coldness wash over her as she eyes her colleague showing off her new shiny ring. It's the same feeling Sansa got when Arya and Gendry came back from Europe and announced they had gotten married in Belgium. The same feeling she got when they then told the family Arya was pregnant, and it was the same feeling Sansa had while attending Robb and Margaery's wedding.  It wasn't jealousy- not really- but rather a sense that Sansa would never get _her_ turn. It was like a fear that time was running out, and that somehow her life would pass her by without marriage or the finality of some sort of commitment. Jaime had never expressed the desire for marriage, and perhaps she was afraid that he didn't want to. 

"You look like you're at a funeral" she hears the voice beside her and it drags her out of whatever deep reverie she was threatening to slip into. Brienne stands beside her, blue eyes looming down at her from her height, some sort of smirk and frown combining on her lips. Sansa sighs heavily, throwing the cake down on the counter she leans against and folds her arms. She can not seem to take her eyes off of Jeyne, watching as she's bustled around the room by the giggling bunch of student teachers. 

"I'd rather be at a funeral" she mumbles, her heart plummeting as soon as the words are out of her mouth. She remembers clearly then the rain at the cemetery, her own father being buried and Jaime holding her back from throwing herself in with him. She shakes her head then, more at herself than anything else, and eyes Brienne again. She can see it on her best friends face; that look of pity that Sansa vehemently detests and Brienne wears it often around Sansa. She looks away from her then and back to the smiling face of Jeyne Poole. It's almost sickening to watch and listen to her radiate the sort of happiness that Sansa aches for, but she plasters on a smile when Jeyne makes her way around to them, and embraces her tightly with a word of congratulations on her lips. 

How desperately she wants that to be her. 

"I feel so sorry for the poor guy that's engaged to her" Brienne remarks as soon as the blushing soon to be wed Jeyne is well out of ear shot. The willowy beauty wears a frown on her face, and Sansa can not help but roll her blue eyes "she _is_ extremely irritating"

"As overbearing and difficult as she is, at least she _has_ a fiance. The rest of us wallflowers are left standing here in uncommitted relationships" the bitterness trickles into her tone, and Brienne, all six foot of her, stands before Sansa in a towering shadow. She has a comical look on her face, one arched eyebrow raising to create wrinkles on her forehead and her hands are clutching her wide hips. 

"The rest of us? Excuse you, Ms Stark, but I have been married for five years now thank you very much" she flashes the ring on her wedding finger and Sansa grimaces "and uncommitted?" Brienne questions- eyebrows raising higher "I thought you and Jaime were very committed to each other" 

"Please Brienne, Jaime's idea of commitment is agreeing to buy a plant to look after. Or deciding what color to paint the bathroom. Jaime's never going to want....." Sansa finds the words are difficult so she flourishes her hand to where Jeyne stands in the corner, beaming like the sun outside "well _that_. The whole marriage thing" 

"Has it ever come up before? Not even once?" Brienne asks absently, walking to the counter and picking up an untouched piece of cake. Sansa shakes her head of red curls and heaves a sigh so heavy it makes her slouch. 

"Not even once" she repeats "even when we went to Tyrion's wedding last year he didn't bring it up. Valentines, my birthday, our anniversary- all have gone by without a single proposal or mention of marriage and I just......can't help but want that to be _me_ over there showing off my ring" 

"Maybe it's because Jaime's a lot -" 

"If you say it's because he's a lot older I'll shove that cake in your face" Sansa tells her and Brienne laughs a little, and despite the aching desperation that Sansa feels inside she manages to crack a smile herself. 

"I was going to say a lot more settled" the willowy blonde states around a mouthful of cake "he's comfortable with you Sansa, and he loves you. Maybe he feels he doesn't need to put a ring on your finger. Most men aren't into marriage anyway" 

"You're just saying that to make me feel better" Sansa grumbles and whether Brienne is or not she does not answer; only shoves her fork back into her mouth and stays silent. Sansa can muse however, thoughts and dooming prospects of the future running through her mind. Will it ever be her and Jaime standing before their families on their wedding day? Will it ever be Sansa wearing the white dress, or showing off her ring to her co workers? Just like Brienne her mind does not answer, and she is left with nothing but questions. 

As she looks at Jeyne Poole and her smiling co workers an unsettling sense of doom takes root inside her, and no matter how hard she tries to shake it, it will not disappear. 

* * *

 There's a spring in Jaime Lannister's steps that hadn't been there the day before, and each and every footfall of his is less heavy than the pedestrians that walk beside him. The delay of traffic on this mornings road wasn't even enough to dull his fantastic mood, and now as he walks through the doors of the newspaper office he can only smile. Most mornings he is fixed with a scowl and a look on his face that normally makes his co workers avoid him completely. But he is bright eyed and jovial as he walks through the top floor, earning a concerned look from the receptionist. 

It is Sansa, and the ring that he keeps hidden in his pocket that is making his heart beat lighter and his smile wider, and he finds the terrifying potential of marriage doesn't even weigh him down. The top floor office is as boring as it ever is; grey walls and full of desks littered with balled up paper and post it notes and just like always it appears completely empty. Jaime knows that the sports writers are always out at some game or other, reporting the latest league match or interviewing football managers. The girls like Val that write for beauty and fashion always seem to be away from their neat desks- the only ones on the floor- in places like France or Italy. Val, who is quite fond of Sansa, is currently in Milan writing about fashion week. 

It is always the boring column writers that are left behind, and Jaime is certainly one of them. True crime doesn't seem to grab the attention of people nowadays the way the latest fashion trends do. 

"Morning Jaime" he hears before he can make it to his desk, and his eyes flick to the side, catching the hulking figure of the columnist he's always pushed aside for. He's wearing a shirt two sizes two small, and a smile full of white teeth. Jaime has hated him ever since Sansa blushed at a compliment he threw her at the office Christmas party two years ago. 

"Morning Rickon" Jaime smiles back politely, a giddy sort of childish glee bubbling up inside as he watches the buff Neanderthal's smile falter. 

"It's Dickon" the Tarly boy retorts back with a frown. They've been working together for years now, of course Jaime knows his name. He just prefers to pretend he doesn't. 

"How could I ever forget?" Jaime throws over his shoulder as he walks away, sarcasm heavy in his tone. His eyes then fall on his own desk, where two figures occupy its space just like they always do, both of them lounging around it. It's Podrick- the office intern- who spots him first; a wide grin of admiration spreading across his heart shaped face. There is always a look of awe in the young mans eyes whenever he looks at Jaime; and something about it unsettles him greatly. _I want to write like you someday, Mr Lannister._ He's heard the words out of the boys mouth enough times now, and each time he hears them he feels a stabbing pain for the past. Once it seemed like every award for writing was bestowed on him, but now he's in his forties and a washed up journalist who works for a city newspaper. He wishes to tell Podrick sometimes to find a new hero to worship.

"Good morning, Mr Lannister" it's Bronn, who is seated on Jaime's desk, that speaks first. There's always such a sarcastic drawl to his voice that Jaime can not help but frown over; even his greeting is dripping in sarcasm. His black hair is slicked back, and there's a wide grin on his face that makes thin lines appear near his mouth. Sometimes Jaime wonders if Bronn's sleek behavior and charming smile is the only reason he prints such good columns; it seems sometimes women sell not only their stories to him. 

 "Morning boys" Jaime grins back as he sets his briefcase on the desk, knocking away a pile of crumpled up drafts and old coffee cups as he does. If Sansa ever saw the mess of his work space she'd surely scold him for it. 

"Do you ever give poor Dickon a break?" Bronn laughs as he leaves the desk and throws himself in a chair; nodding his head in the direction where the fitness and health columnist sits far from ear shot. Jaime looks over his shoulder at the hulking chunk of muscle that is doing anything other than writing; now currently trying to throw paper balls into a waste paper basket. 

"His parents decided to call him Dickon" Jaime laughs as he looks back at the two unlikely comrades- both Bronn and Podrick now spinning aimlessly from side to side on swivel chairs. 

"So that's enough reason to tease him all the time, is it?" there's a comical raise to Bronn's eyebrow and Jaime nods firmly. 

"That and the fact he flirts the ass off of my girlfriend every time she comes by work" Jaime runs a hand through his long hair; once again thinking how he needs a trim. 

"Could you blame him? I mean have you seen Sansa?" it's Podrick who speaks now and Jaime pauses his hasty tidying of his desk; green eyes meeting dull ones widened by fear. It's clear the poor boy hadn't mean to spill his words so stupidly from his mouth; but Jaime can not blame him for his comment. Sansa was indeed something to behold. 

"I'll forget you said that, Podrick" Jaime remarks with playfully narrowed eyes, sharing a secret smile with Bronn as the young boy gulps loudly. 

"What has you in such a good mood today?" Bronn asks Jaime then, bringing his swiveling to a stand still and throwing his feet up on Jaime's desk. He stops his tidying then. What's the point when he works so close to pigs like Bronn? He looks behind his shoulder again, noticing that Dickon Tarly has now disappeared completely and the phone on his desk is ringing insistently, but there is no one else around and Jaime is glad of the privacy. The weight of the ring in his jacket pocket becomes ten times heavier. 

"Can you keep a secret?" he lightly asks his co workers, watching the light in their eyes flicker. He sits himself down then, pulling himself closer to his desk and putting his shaking hand into his pocket. It suddenly looks as ominous as it had the first time he had laid eyes on the black velvet box. The two men before him sharply inhale as he sits it atop his copy of _East End Gangland_ that rests on his desk. The ring itself is beautiful; vintage and shining with an oval diamond in the middle- the exact one Sansa had admired in the window of the antique shop last Christmas. It blinks now in the light streaming through the office window and Jaime's stomach twists into knots. 

"When?" is all Bronn manages to say, wide eyed but content looking as he takes his eyes away from the ring and to Jaime. 

"Tonight" Jaime answers, fisting two hands in his hair and letting out a heavy breath that he hadn't known he was holding in "it _has_ to be tonight. I've been putting it off for ages now" 

"And you're definitely sure about this? The Jaime I met twelve years ago would never have wanted marriage" Bronn tells him as he leans forward, all look of sensitive humor gone from his eyes to be replaced by adult seriousness. 

"That was before I met her" Jaime sighs, once again eyeing the ring "I don't want, and I'll _never_ want anything more than this. I want a house, I want a wife, I would like children someday. I want this, I really do" 

There's an unsure look that flickers across Bronn's face then, but it's gone as soon as it came when he notices how serious Jaime looks and how true his words are. Jaime knows Bronn must be thinking how they used to be when they had first met; younger and wilder than they are now, chasing girls and drinking booze around the city every weekend and bagging the best spots in newspapers. But that was more than a decade ago, and that was before Jaime had met Sansa; stranded and cold in the snow. 

"Well mate, all I can say is good luck. And congratulations" Bronn extends a hand that Jaime shakes firmly and Podrick takes his hand next. 

"Congratulations Jaime" the intern tells him with a smile so wide and genuine Jaime feels giddy due to it. He feels in one mad moment that he should hug someone; completely high on happiness. 

"Thanks guys. Hope she says yes" he jokes lightly, tucking the ring back in his pocket. 

"I know she will" Bronn tells him "and seriously Jaime, I'm happy for you. You deserve to be happy" 

"I _am_ happy" Jaime smiles "Sansa makes me happy" 

* * *

 The late sky of evening finally cloaks the heavens above, and Jaime all but runs from the building as soon as the big hand ticks to seven on the office clock. He's worked over time tonight, partly because he's been meaning to finish an article on local drug sales and also because he's been trying to distract his mind from the nerve wracking task he now plans to act out. 

There's hardly any pedestrians out this time in the evening, and he delights in the fact he has the long walk to Sansa's school to mull things over. The ring box bangs off his hip where it rests inside the pocket of his coat and some part of him wants to chuck it into the river he walks alongside. What Sansa doesn't know won't kill her. But it'd kill him, if he never does this, and the greater part of him wants to. So he thinks then of Sansa in a white wedding dress, a smile on her face and her blue eyes twinkling as she walks down the aisle. All of his nerves and worries seem worth it when he thinks of that, and he gladly accepts the butterflies in his stomach and the spinning of his head. 

He's lost completely in thoughts of her that he doesn't even realise twenty minutes has gone by and he is now standing before the red bricked building of the elementary. There's barely any lights on inside, most of the teachers and parents who had attended the conference now gone home, but he can see her from one of the windows. Jaime's jaw clenches when he sees the blonde form of Harry Hardyng beside her. 

He hates him more than Dickon Tarly. Not that he _hates_ Dickon- not really- he just mildly dislikes him. But _Harry_. Harry he can not stand. He's made enough crude remarks to Sansa in the past that Jaime can not bear the sight of him. Jaime remembers in the early stages of their relationship how Harry had actually asked Sansa on a date, and had completely disregarded the fact Sansa already had someone. 

They're standing in the hallway, the light of the moon outside thrown in on top of them, and Jaime wants to throw himself on the ground and propose to Sansa here and now. With Harry watching. It'd be satisfying beyond belief but Jaime restrains himself, forcing out a smile when Harry greets him with one. 

"Jaime?" Sansa questions; a beam spreading across her face. She's radiant as always, the plait she had in her hair earlier is now gone and her hair is wild and fiery around her face. Jaime can not help but appreciate the way her red spotted dress hugs every inch of her "I didn't think I'd see you until I got home" 

"I thought I'd walk you home, besides I needed the air" he tells her, pulling her close and lightly kissing the top of her head. He wishes to kiss her harder and on her mouth but he'd never embarrass her like that, no matter how much he knows Harry would hate it. He watches them with narrowed eyes and Jaime remembers then the first time he'd ever been introduced to him. _Oh you must be Sansa's dad. Nice to meet you Mr Stark._ How he'd wanted to punch him then, and how he wants to do it now as the smug little bastard watches them with discontent. 

"So you never answered my question about tomorrow?" Harry asks, his eyes sliding to where Jaime's hand now lies on Sansa's waist; gripping tightly. _What's tomorrow?_ Jaime wants to ask, but he holds his tongue and delights when Sansa answers. 

"I can't Har" the fact she shortens his name with familiarity irks Jaime immensely and he holds her to his side a little closer "I have to go to my niece's birthday party, but maybe next week?" 

"Sure Sansa, it'll be fun. You need to get out more" Jaime does not miss how Harry's blue eyes flicker to him, and anger bites at Jaime's tongue but he holds it yet again "anyway, I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah? Have a nice evening" 

"You too, Harry" she smiles at him and he gives a charming one back, throwing a look of hidden sourness at Jaime who smiles falsely at him. He grinds his teeth as he watches the slithering blond walk away, wishing Sansa worked with _anyone_ else. 

"God I hate that prick" Jaime remarks as soon as he is once again hugged by the chill outside; the street lamps casting a halo of orange around them in the shadow of evening sky. Sansa just laughs beside him, linking her arm in his and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

"You only hate him because he once asked me on a date" she tells him with a smile but Jaime only scowls, pushing a hand through his hair angrily. 

" _While_ we were dating, Sansa. You just don't do that if you already know a girl has a boyfriend. Which you did" Jaime looks down at her from his height, the softest of smiles appearing on his face at the sight of the twinkle in her blue eyes. They're walking along the path that's strewn with leaves- orange and red- and she looks like the embodiment of autumn with her flaming hair that's ten times more luminous in the glow of the street lights. She's beautiful, it's a simple fact he finds pains him greater than anything. 

"Jaime! We had been on three dates!" she laughs at him, nudging him with her hip "you and I weren't official or anything" 

"Yeah well we are now" he grumbles and she just shakes her head of red curls as she laughs at him. He then notices when she laughs that there's a wispy stream of white that falls from her lips, and she rubs her hand over her bare arm. He curses himself then for abandoning gentlemanly courtesies in his haze of Harry hate.

"Here" he stops her with a gentle pull of her arm, and he shrugs off his jacket to give to her "you're cold, Sans. Put it on" 

"Thanks, babe" she smiles as she leans up and presses the softest of kisses to his lips. 

"Don't thank me. I just like seeing you in my clothes" she smacks his arm as he smirks, but there's a twinkle in her eyes that makes his stomach knot. She shoves her cold hands into the pockets of his jacket and kicks her way through a pile of accumulating leaves that have fallen beneath an oak tree. He watches her contently like she is some sort of woodland nymph that parades around the forest, as she wades between the trees along the street and walks in the leaves like she is at home.

"So how was work? How was dreamy Dickon today?" Sansa teases him while swinging around a lamp post, stopping with her body tilted and her lips curved in a wide smile. He frowns at her dramatically and she giggles as she swings around again. She is a child still he knows, and sometimes he forgets that. 

"Dickon is close to getting my fist acquainted with his chiseled face" Jaime remarks darkly and Sansa's laughter is like bells that echo throughout the evening. 

"Oh don't be so pouty, Jaime. You know I will only ever love you" Sansa laughs, but her words are true and his heart swells inside of him.

"How was the parent teacher conference? As delightful as always I assume?" he decides to ask instead, not wishing to speak of Dickon longer than a second. Sansa adores her job, he knows, but some of the parents she can not stand and he can see she wishes to let it all out. She'll sit and complain for hours about some of them, and he'd happily listen to her ranting. But she freezes from where she walks ahead of him, and he frowns in confusion as he comes up along behind her. She is still and he can hear that she's not breathing, one of her hands now limply inside his jacket pocket. It hits him then like a freight train. Hard and shocking; and he finds he can only stutter out incoherent mumbles. She's wearing his _jacket_. And had her hands in his _pockets_.

She turns around to him then, something like a mixture of fear and delight spread across her face. In her hand she holds the small velvet box and her eyes meet his as she steps closer to him- a million questions swimming in them. 

"Jaime" Sansa breathes out, voice shaking and hands trembling "what's this?" 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. the end of a beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our almost will always haunt me

It hadn't happened the way Jaime had planned it in his head. The ring hadn't been put in his pocket for her to find intentionally, but it's in Sansa's hands now and Jaime can't change that. Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, blue seas that are rushing with oncoming tears that he knows will paint marks on her cheeks. She has a habit of chewing her lip when she's nervous, and her teeth are biting into the soft pink flesh hard enough for Jaime to see the color drain from them. He's looked at the ring and back to her eyes about a hundred times now, and all words he's yet to say are stuck in his throat. 

"Jaime" Sansa breathes out- voice wispy and as soft as the autumn breeze that flits through the evening and makes the leaves rustle above them. His name makes him snap his eyes to hers, Lannister green looking down into Tully blue and something deep within him settles. He realises then that any nervousness he's felt, any worry he has had has been derisory. This is _Sansa_. The person he's most comfortable with, the woman who loves him greater than he deserves and he should not have a heart inside of him that shrinks from the possibility of marriage. He should not be nervous, he should be confident that they're going to spend the rest of their lives together. 

"Sansa" he finally finds his words, stepping closer to her and trying to make his hands shake less as he takes the velvet box out of the palm of her hand. Her hands now fall limply to her sides, the weight of the ring replaced by an effortless tremor that has begun within her. Every part of her shakes as if she has been bathing in ice, but those rosy cheeks that are stained by tears are now the colour of blossoms; pink and pretty. No matter how long they stay together, Jaime knows her blushes are only really saved for him.

"This was a lot easier in my head" Jaime offers in a whisper, the words coming from his mouth as shaky as the orange and red leaves that rustle above their heads. He throws out a throaty chuckle at the end with a rough cough, but Sansa does not smile or laugh at his attempt to be modestly jovial. She does not do anything, save for cry and shake. Jaime wishes he could do just that, to perhaps give in to the nerves that are threatening to creep back, but one look into those eyes she got from her mother sets him back to the stage of ease. She's a vision as she stands there underneath the glow of the street lamp, with the bitter wind and autumn leaves tangling themselves in her fiery hair. She's beautiful even with the black of her mascara running down her wind bitten cheeks, the dirty track of makeup evidence that her emotions are getting the better of her.

But he's always loved her sensitivity, and every ugly and horrid emotion she has bottled up inside herself. Her anger at him when he comes home stinking of alcohol with Bronn trailing behind, or her late night laughter that borders on hysteria as she lays with him under their covers, her grief that she plainly showed him when her father died. All of her emotions he loves, and this frozen state of shock with the eyes of a woman deeply in love is why he bends his knee slowly. Sansa gasps and places a shaking hand over her mouth, as if she hadn't known any of this was happening at all. Her naivety; another endearing quality he fell head over heels for.

"I love you, Sansa. Plain and simple" Jaime's words are strong despite the aching nerves that are crippling his beating heart, and the hand that clutches the shining ring aches to reach out and wipe the falling tears from her face. But these are happy tears. Tears of a woman in love, he reminds himself. Or at least he prays they are. "And I'm not going to give you a speech because I'm not that man, you know I'm not. But I _am_ a man that wants to spend the rest of his life with you. I knew it from the first time I saw you, stranded and broken down in the snow. I just knew I'd marry you someday. That's what I want, it's all I want. So Sansa Stark, will you marry me?"

With each minute that passes the silence gets louder, and Jaime's heart bangs so loudly off his chest that he thinks Sansa can probably hear it. There are no words from her mouth, and for a moment he fears the only word that will come from them will be a rejection. But she stutters out a cry, the heavy tears falling faster from her eyes and Jaime's heart is rested when she nods her head.

"Yes!" Sansa tells him, a smile so wide and beautiful spreading across her face "yes I'll marry you, Jaime! Of course I'll marry you"

For a blissful moment it's only the two of them on the sidewalk as Jaime slips the ring on her finger and stands; engulfing her smiling lips with his own and tangling his hands in her hair. And for a small moment it's just the two of them in the world. Her lips, her dark red hair and the smell of her expensive perfume are the only things he can sense, and the beating of her heart and the sound of her breathing mixing with his is the only thing he wants to hear.

He can taste Sansa's tears on his tongue as they run down her face, and her muffled declarations of love buzz off his busy lips. She trembles in his arms with happiness and as he pulls away from her passionate kiss she lets out the tiniest of whines; the soft sound making him smile. Her eyes are blue and teary as he looks in them, but he's so in love with her that he relishes in her tears since he knows they've been made because she's happy.

"Let's go home" Jaime tells her, and together; hand in hand, they begin the short walk home. But with the ring on Sansa's finger and both of their crashing hearts it becomes a walk towards the future.

* * *

She's looked at it a hundred times but the ring on her left hand still seems like an unexpected vision each time she chooses to gaze at it. The sun is glinting through the window of their bedroom and sparkles off the diamond that rests proudly on her finger- her heart crashing in her chest as she remembers Jaime kneeling on the ground with it in his hand. _Will you marry me?_ The words swim around in her mind and create a memory in front of her eyes, Jaime's voice and the way the world had spun making her remember exactly what it had felt like. So long she had waited for this moment and now the definite prospect of marrying the man she loves is almost threatening to make her dizzy.

If she could she would marry Jaime today and start their lives together, but the dream of a white wedding is too promising to abandon. It remains their secret for now- their engagement- but later today Sansa knows she'll have to tell her family. An excited bubble rises in her chest at the thought of screaming that she's Jaime's fiancée out loud, and she covers her smiling face with her hands. She'll have to tell them alone however, since Jaime won't be there at her niece's party. Not until later anyway.

"You sure you just can't take it off?" Sansa asks, her voice wavering in the air. She can see Jaime- white pressed shirt hanging open on his body- through the open crack in the bathroom door. She's asked him this a hundred times, and each time Jaime answers with the same thing.

"I can't baby, I already told you" he tells her; putting his toothbrush back in its holder and walking back into the bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, long and aged hands fiddling with the buttons on his shirt "this seminar is important for my article, but I promise I'll be finished at five and I'll drive straight to Arya's. No delays"

"Come here" she sighs softly, sitting up in the bed and beckoning him towards her. She's a fiery vision-an angel with a thousand sun kissed freckles as she sits there wrapped in the ivory sheets- the thin material pressed to her naked chest. He'd kissed her fiercely last night; losing himself in her during the throws of passion and it's evident now when he sits on the bed beside her and sees the tiny red marks on her shoulders and the plump bruises near her jutted out lips. The ring on her finger catches his eye and he can't help but smile as he looks at it. It suits her well, he thinks, the bright prospect of marriage.

She smiles widely at him as she throws her arms around his neck, and he can't help but pull her closer.

"You nervous? About telling your family?" Jaime asks her gently, his fingers twirling the fiery tendrils of her curling hair. Sansa lets out a sigh, her eyes tracing every shape on his face and then shifting to the ring on her hand.

"A little" she confesses, her lips finding their way to his freshly shaved neck, the bristles along his jaw scratching her cheeks "but they'll be happy for me. Happy for us"

"Look I know you're family never really liked me....oh come on Sansa" he tells her with a laugh when she tries to protest "I'm a lot older than you, my family hasn't always been the greatest of friends with the Starks and maybe I don't have the best past. But I'm going to prove to them that I'll love you forever"

"I love you, Jaime" her voice is soft, and her lips are softer when they touch his and he wishes he could stay like this forever with Sansa in his arms and nothing but a thin sheet between them. Her kiss is gone all too suddenly, but her blue eyes sparkle as they look into his.

"I love you more than anything else in the world" he kisses her once more-softly, slowly- and lets his words linger in the air. Her smile is infectious as she watches him leave the bed and grab his jacket, and her eyes are bright and beautiful as they follow him. Every step towards the bedroom door makes him want her even though he hasn't left yet, and his heart picks up when he turns around to gaze at her once more.

"I'll see you at Arya's, yeah?" Sansa asks him from where she's perched on the side of the bed like a bird.

"Yes, I'll see you later. We'll go out for dinner after, okay?" Jaime proposes with a smile, and Sansa nods with a beam. She wants to kiss him once more, the desire to taste his lips and hold him close takes her over like a rushing wave but before she can do anything Jaime is gone. It is an odd feeling that settles over her then, like she has just talked to a ghost, but the sound of the door closing snaps her back and the feeling is gone in a gust of reality.

* * *

Brightly coloured balloons and party streamers that are tied around every fence post greet her when she drives down the winding driveway towards her sisters modest cabin. The sound of the gravel under the tyres of her red Mini Cooper is a welcome one, so different from the soft sounds of the city roads. She hasn't been here for months now since Arya and her daughter always choose to visit Jaime and Sansa at theirs instead, but the idea of spending time with her niece in the homely cabin is a warm one.

Her brothers cars are already parked in front of the wooden house so she pulls up beside them, a fidgeting sort of excitement taking over her as she climbs out. She doesn't know how she'll tell them- she's contemplated just holding up her hand or perhaps squealing it excitedly to her sister and mother or maybe she should hide the ring and wait until Jaime arrives so they can tell them together. But she knows in a way it's up to her to tell her family and no one else's.

It's loud inside the house, the murmur of adult conversation and the chatter of children meeting her ears as she steps inside the tiny hallway. Her eyes- just like every time she comes here- go straight to the picture of her father that rests above the small table laden with candles at the entrance. His grey Stark eyes look down at her; his face and smile frozen behind the glass frame.

"Hey dad" she whispers, a painful smile shaping on her lips, the kind of one that a ghostly sort of nostalgia rests behind. She hates and loves the memories, just like she hates and loves the fact that Arya chooses to put pictures of their dead father around her house. Sansa had thrown a fit when Ned had died, breaking ever frame that contained a picture of him until her apartment floor had been covered in glass. Jaime had held her that night while she sobbed and wiped her eyes with bleeding fingertips.

It's too painful to remember him so she looks away from his picture and hangs up her jacket.

"Sansa!" she hears the call of her name before she's even set foot in the large kitchen and as she turns around she beams brightly at the sight of the tiny girl rushing towards her.

"Lyanna!" Sansa gushes, swooping the girl into her arms and picking her up "I missed you, sweet girl"

"I missed you too" she tells her aunt- baby voice rough with squeaky childishness and her chubby little hands play with the ends of Sansa's fiery plait.

"So did I" Sansa hears from the hallway and in three quick strides both Lyanna and Sansa are over to the slight frame that stands in the doorway. She's as mischievous looking as always, with a curved smile on her face and a twinkle in her dark eyes that suggest a world of wildness.

"Hey babe, missed you too" Sansa tells Arya as she wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her brown hair. They used to fight a lot when they were younger, much to the heartache of their parents, but ever since Arya had become pregnant and ever since Ned had died they had become a lot closer. Things always happened for a reason, Sansa liked to believe, and maybe all the pain that had befallen them had happened so she could gain a best friend through the sister she always thought her enemy.

"Where's uncle Jaime?" Lyanna asks from where she's perched on Sansa's narrow hip, and Arya looks behind her sisters shoulder to see if the handsome shadow of Jaime Lannister is anywhere to be found.

"Uncle Jaime has to work for a couple of hours" Sansa explains, although it's probably in vain since a newly turned three year old would not grasp the concept of time; but she continues anyway since it's more for Arya's benefit "but he'll be here later to see you! I know he won't believe how big you've gotten, you're nearly as tall as me!"

At this comment Lyanna giggles, smiling widely and trying to inch even closer to Sansa's eye level to prove that she's a big girl now. It's a hard thing to believe, since she is as tiny as her mother was at that age. She is a petite thing, little Lyanna, but there is an adventurous sort of spark in her eyes that makes Sansa believe she's so much older than she is.

"I love your dress" Sansa tells her, smoothing down the pale pink fabric that's covered with white roses and giving her curly hair a kiss. It's a shade darker than Sansa's, the same auburn as their mothers and she finds it funny how Arya, the very embodiment of a Stark, had a child with the hair of a Tully.

"She picked it out herself" Arya comments with a roll of her eyes and a soft smile "and insisted on wearing the bows to match. Honestly, sometimes I think she's more yours than mine"

It's a comment Sansa has heard often; not only does her niece resemble her but despite her wildness she holds some of the same characteristics, and even though it should delight her it only makes her sad. She's often looked at Lyanna and wished for her own daughter, but so far nothing has gotten her pregnant. The image of stained sheets of blood and Jaime holding her hand in the doctors office resurfaces in her mind, and she lets Arya take Lyanna from her. Maybe coming here wasn't the best idea. But the past doesn't truly chase her, no matter how much she thinks it does, the past is just _there_ and she can't escape from it.

She's engulfed in warm hugs and wet kisses when she steps into the backyard that everyone stands in, and shakes the hands of Arya and Gendry's friends that she does not know. Robb practically crushes her and so does her cousin Jon as they wrap her in bear hugs. Robb's wife Margaery is as sweet as ever as she takes Sansa into an embrace, the soft swell of her stomach pressing soft into Sansa's. She's due in Spring, the same time Jon and Ygritte are set to marry. The wild fiery red head is as jovial and funny as ever, and Sansa delights in the fact of seeing Ygritte after so long. She's often thought of Marg and Ygritte as two other sister's.

Both Robb and Jon are disappointed that Jaime isn't with her, and Rickon pouts heavily since he'd been so excited to tell Jaime he'd made the rugby team. But they delight when Arya tells them that he'll be there after work, much to the surprise of Sansa. It was never so much her brothers that disliked him but her mother.

Catelyn Stark stands under the shade of the large apple tree that is rooted beside the snack table, and her eyes of Tully blue meet Sansa's as she walks towards her. Sansa often tells Jaime that she feels as if she lost two parents the day her father was buried, since her mother is but a shell of who she used to be. Almost vacant and unemotional; the only real joy is when she's with her granddaughter and children. There is a faint smile on her lips as she watches Lyanna play with little Edric from next door.

"Hey mum" Sansa greets her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. She smells of expensive perfume- the same one Ned used to buy her each Christmas- and tobacco. She hadn't smoked since the seventies, but ever since she'd lost her husband she'd acquired the taste for it again, and lost the taste for everything else.

"My darling girl" Cat tells her, blue eyes glinting and her red hair blowing around her aging face "how've you been? How's work?"

"I've been good, mum. Work's fine" she replies softly, her eyes leaving her mothers face to wander around the garden. She can see Robb whispering into Margaery's ear, the lips of the young woman turning up into a smile she covers with her hand. Her big brother always did have a talent of making people laugh. Her brother in law- Gendry- stands beside his petite wife, his eyes never leaving her face while she chats to Jon. She'd always felt so out of place at gatherings like this. She'd never been the one to announce that she was engaged, or buying a house in some quiet suburb or that she was expecting. Sansa had always felt like she was being left behind, when all of her siblings were passing her out. Even Bran had finished college before her. But now, it's her turn to be the one with news.

"Actually mum" she begins with a shaking voice "I have something to tell you"

"Oh Sansa" her mother sighs, a hand clasping over her arm- her brow is furrowed and her eyes are sorry "have you and Jaime broken up again? Is that why he's not here?"

"No, mum. Quite the opposite actually. Jaime and I, we're um......getting married. He proposed last night" her hand shakes as she holds it up for her mother to see her ring, and her blue eyes widen now that she sees it for the first time. She doesn't say anything for a while, just stares at Sansa's hand and holds it like it's fine porcelain "Mum I know I'm young and I know when we started dating that you told me he was too old for me, but I love him. I really really love him and I know I'm going to be happy with him"

"Then I'm happy" Catelyn tells her, gently letting her hand go and looking her daughter in the eyes.

"Really? You are?" Sansa beams, the heart inside her beating with elation.

"Sansa he's a good man, he loves you and treats you the way a man should. Sure we weren't thrilled you were dating a man almost as old as your own father, but none of that matters when it comes down to the fact that you love one another. Three years later and you're still together. About time he put a ring on it" at that Sansa laughs, and so does her mother and for one blissful moment everything is so perfect that Sansa is almost afraid to move an inch in case everything falls apart.

But she does move, with her arm linked in her mothers and as the sun starts to set in the sky she holds up her hand for her family to see. They're all so delighted for her that it makes her want to cry. Even Bran and Rickon tear their eyes away from their phones for a minute to hug and kiss her, and even though Lyanna can't fully understand Sansa promises her that she can be a flower girl at the wedding. Ygritte becomes excited then, nearly on the cusp of proposing a double wedding but Jon is already so tired of hearing about wedding plans that she just winks and says she'll talk later.

"I'm really happy for you, you know" Arya tells her while handing her a slice of birthday cake. Lyanna had fussed and cried because she hadn't wanted to cut it without her uncle Jaime but he's already forty minutes late "you deserve to be happy Sansa, after everything"

"I am happy. I think I'm so happy I could burst" Sansa giggles like a teenager, watching as Arya smiles widely and shakes her head "you'll be my maid of honour, right?"

"Really?" she sounds genuinely shocked, like she hadn't expected her own sister to offer her such a thing. Sansa only nods her head and stands closer.

"Who else?"

"Well of course I'll be your maid of honour! I'd be delighted" her sister beams, and in the faint light of the setting sun she looks just like their aunt Lyanna. "You know, dad would be proud of you, Sans"

"I miss him, Arya" Sansa can't help but sigh wistfully, her eyes flickering to the half moon that's barely visible behind the curtain of blood orange above them.

"Me too. But he's never far away" the words sound like the ones Jaime says to her when nights get too hard and memories threaten to kill her. She takes comfort in them when he whispers them softly in her ear, and she takes comfort in them now when they're said by her sister. She nods her head, and pushes the beginnings of tears from her eyes as she takes a deep breath in.

If she was going to say anything to her sister in response then it is drowned out by the insistent buzzing of her phone in her back pocket. She curses silently under her breath, expecting it to be Jaime with an apology on why he is nearly an hour late, but the name that lights up her screen is not one who calls often. It's Jaime's brother, Tyrion. He's probably calling to congratulate, Sansa thinks as she answers.

"Hey Tyrion" she tells him, shooting an apologetic look at her sister "long time no talk, how've you been?"

There's silence on the other end and a crackly sort of breathing that makes the hairs on Sansa's arms stand up. Her heart begins to pound and she presses the phone closer to her ear, as if that will make her hear Tyrion more.

"Tyrion?" she questions, her voice shaky and her hands trembling now that panic has set in. She doesn't know why her heart is crashing inside of her chest all of a sudden, but a ghostly cold is trickling over her body.

"Sansa....I-I called as soon as I c-could" he's been crying, she can tell, and the world begins to spin. _Jaime_ , her mind keeps repeating, _god please not Jaime._

"What's happened?" Sansa is almost on the verge of hysterics now, and from the corner of her eye she can see Arya stepping closer to her.

"It's Jaime. He's been in an accident" she hears Tyrion saying, but it seems mute and far away. She hadn't known she was swaying until she feels a pair of arms around her. She can hear her sisters voice in her ear, asking her what's wrong but she can't speak "it's pretty bad, Sansa. They've taken him straight to hospital and they want the family there"

"What hospital?" she finds herself asking, even though she can't truly hear her own voice.

"St Naerys'"

"I'm on my way" Arya's arms are gone as she whirls around blindly, her feet stumbling across the grass. She can hear the shouts of her family behind her, but she can't bring herself to look back at them. All she can do is look forward, and hope that Jaime is alright.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. a semblance of memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa relives the first time she met jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy guys! And if there are any Gaelic people reading this Lá Fheile Phadraig Shona Duit!

**_December. 3 years ago._ **

It's the coldest day of the entire year and the snow starts to stick to the cracked pavements and settle itself in icicles on the dying leaves of the many trees. It falls down lightly in downy swirls of frost and attaches itself to peoples cars and makes the tips of their noses pink. It's officially winter, and Sansa Stark could not be more miserable. She's always loved the snow, but the _cold_ ; not so much.

The tips of her fingers drum against the steaming mug of coffee she holds in her hands as she makes her way down the brick steps of her university; glad to be rid of boring lectures for the day. It's a Friday, and the thought of curling up in her tiny apartment with take away and a mug of tea makes her feel slightly warmer. Maybe she'll watch Bridget Jones again for the hundredth time, or really out do herself and rent something new from the dodgy neon lit video store down the street from her flat. Perhaps she'll even get a bottle of wine and cry over her noodles.

She had received yet another bad grade from her English Literature professor, and didn't feel like doing anything else other than wallowing in deep depression this Friday night- refusing offers from both her friends and her brother to go out tonight. Besides she couldn't quite afford to keep splashing out on boozy nights in the city with her wild brother and doting friends- she loved the second hand bookstore she worked in but it didn't pay very well. Her awfully small salary is evident in the form of her car- a blue and rusted vintage beetle that now rests before her eyes. She lets out a sigh of relief as she eyes it and fiddles in her pockets as she retrieves her keys.

The windscreen is frosted over and the door sticks heavily and she has to pull it harshly to get it to open. Sansa is glad then that she had listened to her father and bought an ice picker as she eyes it lying carelessly in the back seat. It works a wonder as it clears most of the sticky snow that has coated most of her beaten down car and she at least has a smile instead of a frustrated growl as she gets back into the car. Chinese take out and cheesy movies is all she thinks about as she adjusts the driver seat and gets herself settled behind the wheel- the promise of being almost home a comfort in her mind.

It's all a little too good to be true though and the illusion of comfort is ruined in a moment. Sansa turns the key yet nothing happens; just an awful spluttering sound that is followed by a choking gust of black smoke.

"Fucking hell" she mutters under her breath as she rips off her slouchy grey beret from her head, running a hand through her long red hair. It's wild and curly atop her head and has fused together with the wind and snow. She's sure she looks a mess= red cheeks and a red tipped nose just like that stupid reindeer that's plastered over every shop window, and chewed lips that have probably been turned blue at this stage. She doesn't even look in the mirror to check her appearance. She doesn't want this day to get any worse.

Stubbornly she pulls her hat back on and with a huff she exits the car, nearly slipping on the ice that is glazed over the road. She has to grip her wipers on the windscreen to steady herself- the coffee in her hand spilling a little. Sansa had never paid attention to her father when he had been teaching the boys and Arya about cars and motorcycles and as she walks around to the back of her beetle and pulls up the trunk she has no idea what she's supposed to be looking at. Of course she had to buy a car with the engine in the back which makes the situation even more difficult.

Her phone rests in her pocket heavy and warm and she contemplates ringing her dad to come and help her, but she doesn't want to be a bother and he's probably in work anyway. The streets are practically empty of people and most buses have been cancelled because of the snow. The walk back home would be too far and there's no taxi's around. She rubs the side of her head and takes a long sip of coffee, the bitter taste of slowly cooling caffeine lingering on her tongue. The snow starts to fall then, the wispy bits just like powder but the flakes still bite at her already frozen cheeks. She downs another gulp of coffee to keep herself warm inside and contemplates with pouted lips on what to do next. The phone in her pocket feels heavier. 

"You having trouble?" the voice startles her a little and on the icy path she spins around, wobbling slightly, and eyes the stranger before her. He's tall and blonde and devastatingly handsome- the first thing the shallow part of her realises. The second thing is that he's the only other person besides her on the road, and defensiveness takes over. She takes a step back, making it look as innocent as possible and not like she is suddenly weary of this man, and holds her coffee cup tigther in her hands. 

"No I'm fine thank you" she tells him, her blue eyes skipping over his of bright green. He's hard to look away from, and something in her mind tells her she's seen him before, but that thought is gone as soon as she thinks it. 

"Are you sure? I saw you from across the street and it looked like you couldn't start the car" he tells her, his words making his breath freeze in the air "I know a bit about cars I could take a look if you wanted" 

He looks like he could be trusted, and in a split second she decides to. Trusting him enough to take a few steps closer to him. He watches her with eyes that are brilliant and bright against his tanned and lined skin. He's definitely in his late thirties she reckons, and has the skin of a man that has just come back from a foreign holiday. She pictures him on a yacht in the south of France. 

"Um sure. I'd appreciate that thank you" she smiles at him, an action he returns and then he's rolling up his sleeves and bending down at the back of her car. 

"Do you have a tool box?" he asks her with an eyebrow raised, not expecting her answer when she nods her head yes. Just like the ice pick tip her father insisted she carry a tool box in her car for emergencies. It's big and heavy with the weight of all the metal instruments in it and she huffs as she pulls it from the car and places it beside the crouching man. Once again he flashes her a smile so brilliant she's transfixed for just a moment. 

The briefcase that he had clutched in his hand is now beside him on the ground and a small name card that is hung on blue string is strewn over the handle. She eyes the name and almost gasps aloud as she reads it. _Jaime Lannister_. It's a visitors pass to her university and all of a sudden her memory is in overdrive. 

"You're Jaime Lannister?" Sansa asks him, and watches as the corners of his mouth turn up a little. He stalls his movements with the wrench in his hand and looks up at her. She decides in that moment that he is the most beautiful man she's ever laid eyes on, and she instantly blushes at the thought. 

"Yes I am" he tells her with a sparkle in his eyes, one that Sansa guesses is permanently there in one so handsome looking. 

"We read your book on criminology in my English Literature class" she tells him, one hand now self consciously going to the strands of hair around her face when his eyes lift to hers. He has a gaze that would render someone more feeble speechless, but Sansa is not so easily swayed and all she feels is a beating heart and dry mouth. His eyes follow her hand as it brushes through the ends of her fiery hair- burnt orange and copper gold- just how the sky looks when the sun is setting. 

"I hope it wasn't too much of a bore I did write it in the nineties when crime was at a low" he chuckles, pushing up the snow white sleeves of his shirt and digging right in to the cars engine. In the back of her mind she guesses that the clothes he's wearing probably cost more than the car he's now trying to fix, and she hopes they dont get too dirty or she'll feel obliged to pay for new ones.

"I enjoyed it actually. You've a nice writing style, easy to follow" she tells him, feeling that stinging blush once again warm up her cheeks. He just smiles but doesn't look at her- the muscles in his arms twisting with each yank of the wrench. 

"That's because I'm too lazy to actually use fancy words like some writers. So my laziness is easy to follow" Jaime smirks, a nice one though that is pleasantly cheeky and devilishly handsome "believe it or not I actually had a hard time reading and writing as a boy. Hated it in school until I realised that writing can actually tell you a lot about a person, it unlocks thing you know? Things you never really knew about yourself. It's a pity though that more people don't enjoy my writing like you" 

"I'm sure a lot of people still do. You write for the Kings Guard though? True crime journalist? I'm sure that means a lot of people read your stuff?" she asks him, her eyes of sky  blue watching his weathered hands as they work within the dark and mysterious depths of her volkswagen engine. 

"Do you read the King's Guard?" Jaime turns to her then, an eyebrow raised and his eyes watching as her teeth start to suck in her bottom lip. She smiles then, almost apologetically, and shakes her head of red curls that rustle underneath her wooly beret. 

"No I don't really read the newspaper to be honest" she tells him and it's his turn now to shake his head of blonde waves. A trademark Sansa has heard comes with all Lannisters. She doesn't know much about his family, only what she has read on the internet or from her father.

"An English Literature student and you don't read the newspaper?" 

"I'm not crazy about English lit" Sansa tells him, wrapping her hands around the coffee cup. She realises it's gone stone cold. 

"No? How long have you been doing it?" Jaime asks her, his brow deeply furrowed as he stops his twisting and turning of the wrench to peer inside the engine. She doesn't really know why but she crouches down beside him, placing her now cold coffee on the ground between them. 

"Two years" 

"You've wasted two years of uni on a subject you're not crazy about?" his laugh that follows is not mocking but light and Sansa just shrugs helplessly. 

"I guess I have, yeah. It's just not what I thought it would be" she admits, her eyes leaving the oily expanse of the inside of her trunk to go to his face. It's even more tanned up close and she can spot light freckles down his neck that disappear into the cotton of his shirt. 

"Let me guess" he tells her, turning to meet her gaze, he hesitates for a moment at her proximity and then looks away again "you thought it'd be a class full of girls reading Bronte and Austen and swooning over poorly rounded male characters such as Darcy and Mr Rochester" 

"Maybe......" she laughs at his assumption which is entirely true. If she was honest with herself she had had this dream of dissecting each line of Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice, and reading into the romantacism of unlikely relationships like Elizabeth and Darcy. But her literature lectures had never taken that turn. Not once. And she had written essay upon essay and tireless thesis's on the most boring of topics. 

"So what do you want to do? Sorry could you hold this?" he hands her the wrench that is slicked with black grease but Sansa takes it without flinching and watches him as he roots around the tool box that is lying on the snowy ground. 

"I guess if I could choose anything it would be teaching" she's aware then of the falling flakes of snow that tickle her face and she wipes her hand across her cheek to rid herself of the cold itch "I love children" 

"Then go for it. Do it. You'll just end up old and miserable like me if you don't" his words are offered half jokingly but she can sense some sort of bitterness in his tone that she knows she shouldn't question. She doesn't know him at all. Although some part of her feels as if it does. 

His eyes are brilliant and green as they look at her, and it's almost like it's her first time to truly see the colour. Like it was made just for his eyes and nothing else. Gods he's beautiful, Sansa thinks to herself, shivering a little as she watches his plump lips part. There's a gust of ice that follows his breath and she's intent on looking at it as it leaves him. At the back of her mind a niggling something tells her to look away, to rip her gaze away from this beautiful stranger but at the same time she can't quite seem to pull away from the intensity of his eyes. She starts a little when his hand slowly rises to her face, and then his icy fingertips are on her cheek. Somehow they don't seem quite so cold. His touch is soft and his thumb rubs at her face like it's a gesture these two are fond of, or familiar with, even though it's not. 

"You just had a little grease on your face" he mumbles as he pulls away from her and a loud and purposeful cough arises from deep in his chest. 

"So what do you think is wrong with it?" Sansa decides to ask him, steering away from the deeply personal topic of her choices in life and leaving no opportunity for him to touch her again. How it had felt so warm, and familiar. She watches as the handsome man with the astonishing eyes gives her a look of apology. He can't fix it, she guesses. 

"Everything. The timing belt is loose and the engine is completely blocked up. It's an old car, but I think it's seen it's day. Unless you're willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money to get it fixed properly and the whole engine replaced" he tells her in a way that makes her believe he's fixed cars before, or knows a lot about them. 

"Thank you" she sighs, rising on stiff knees to stand up and watching as he follows. He's very tall, she realises when he's this close to her, his broad shouldered frame blocking out the faint reflection of sun that's trying to shine through the snow "but I think you're right, this car has seen it's day. I've had it since I was sixteen, but thank you again for helping me" 

"You're welcome....." he muses for her name, a big and rough hand extending towards her. 

"Sansa" she breathes out, her cold hand swallowed in his as he shakes it. _Familiar_.

"Sansa" he tries it out loud, the sound of it twirling around with the snowflakes that gather around them and he decides then and there it's his favourite word to say. Something beautiful and a little different, and her name instantly makes him think of the sunset. Red hair and red skies. It's perfect for her. He lets her hand go then after he realises he's been holding it longer than appropriate.

"Yes" she giggles a little, not a girlish tittering one but a deep one that almost sounds self conscious "Sansa"

"Well Ms Sansa, would it be alright if I were to walk you home? Since I can't fix your car and I'd hate to think of you walking home alone in the snow because of my lacking mechanical skills" there's that smirk again, that playful smile that makes his handsome face light up.

"Yes you can. Thank you" she beams at him, an action he returns fully. And after taking her bags out of her car and leaving it there to succumb to the full extent of the ice and snow that washes over the city, they begin to walk towards her home. It's a long walk but she's glad of it with him by her side, perhaps at the end of it he won't be a stranger any longer. They carry on their way- their footprints that lay in the snow being slowly covered by the falling flakes from the sky. When she looks back halfway down the road they are gone, those footprints, and in some way it's like they were never there at all. 

 

 

 


End file.
